


Stitched Needles

by HQ_Wingster



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Accents, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Fallen London, Halloween, Love/Hate, Murder Mystery, Other, Out of Character, Secrets, Unrequited Love, keeping secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 07:47:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8437297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HQ_Wingster/pseuds/HQ_Wingster
Summary: Walking in the crowded streets along with the public is a killer, a killer than many have called “Jack the Ripper”. Those who had seen him were dead. Those who had escaped were never found. Those who wanted to capture him never could.Who said anything that the feared killer was a man?





	

**Author's Note:**

> My lousy attempt at a Halloween story

Stalking the streets of Fallen London were the clicks of heels that had an air of urgency. The clacks were steady with the ticks of the overhead watch tower that loomed over the city like a giant. Not a moon was out and nor was a person on the street. The swish of a coat echoed along with the clicks as laughter and small-talk erupted from neighboring pubs across the street. A familiar light glanced at the clicking stranger as her right hand rested against her bosom, clutching the collar of her coat. She wasn’t alone, despite being so. Hungry eyes stalked her, watching her every move.

For a woman to wander the streets so freely was inviting, but the pub-goers knew not to mess with her. They simply lowered their drinks, whistling a prayer between their teeth for the safety of her soul. Refusing to sit idle, a pub-goer escaped from his circle and offered to walk the woman home. He was one of the last sober souls left in all of Fallen London. The smoke in his breath brought little comfort to the dull scene, but at least his smile was as sincere as it could be.

"Let me walk with you for as far as you need to go." A glimmer of gold reflected in his eyes as he offered his hand. "You shouldn't be alone with all the killings recently."

Looking the man up and down, a lovely shade of red veiled her cool eyes. "I will take your word for it." Walking along the narrow line between security and danger, the woman brushed her bangs to the side as she took the pleasure of arranging a small conversation with her partner. Finding out that his name was  _Yuuri Katsuki_ , the woman looked up to the moonless sky and further intertwined her fingers around his. "You must be the detective the papers have been raving about. I’ve heard all about you and your speculations." Her laugh was like an angel’s if Mr. Katsuki ever heard one before.

"That would be me." He scratched his chin with a weak chuckle. It didn't help that the woman was closing the gap bridged between them both. As she drew closer, Mr. Katsuki was forced to take several more steps back. His face was as plain as a book, and his avoiding eyes only made him more inviting. If she had her way, the woman could’ve leaned forward and blew her breath onto the crook of exposed skin on Mr. Katsuki’s neck. Mr. Katsuki jolted.  " _Excuse me_." He yanked his hand out of the woman's grip. A chill ran down Mr. Katsuki’s side as he gathered his thoughts. "You haven't told me your name."

"Mila." She titled her head ever so slightly. "Just Mila." The fire in her hair truly did glow in the dark. Enough to make Mr. Katsuki sweat, his words stumbled when he asked Mila if she had seen anything strange during her nighttime stroll. They were walking again, but no hands were held. Mila looked up to the hiding stars and furrowed her brows. "The strangest thing tonight is that you're here, and I couldn't ask for a better strange." Not a hint of a lie, but a wayward thought was scratching its way into Mr. Katsuki’s mind.

Looking forward, he coughed into the crook of his elbow. " _That's not what I meant._ "

Mila clasped her arms behind her, a spring in her step. "If you're talking about frightful _Jack_ , I didn't see anything strange." Mila kept to herself as she began drifting away. "Not a day passes where I don't wish the safety for my ladies."

"The police and I are working as hard as we can to narrow down the suspects." Mr. Katsuki stole a glance at Mila, watching her radiance fade away. His hand reached out to hers, but Mr. Katsuki held himself back when Mila stopped in front of a quaint, little home in a cozy neighborhood.

"It's best you be off, Mr. Katsuki." Mila's voice was quiet as she reached for the door. The air was still with the silence. " _I don't need a guard dog anymore_."

Mr. Katsuki tipped his hat. "If anything happens, you can trust  _Scotland Yard._ You can trust me." Lowering his head, Mr. Katsuki bid Mila a goodnight before taking his steps back so that she can enter her home with peace in mind. Shutting the door softly behind her, Mila reached into her coat pockets and pulled out two sewing needles. Fetching the unfinished scarf on the table, Mila softly stitched a new line of patterns before retiring for the night. Of course, she took diligent care to make sure that her needles were at their best. She didn't stop wiping until she saw her image reflected back at her.

Not a person was stirring that night in Fallen London. Under the mist and far beyond what most could see, blood splattered the ground as a clean slice was all it took to find what was lost and make it found. The name? The reign terror that fell over London needed a proper name. By the mutilations and sketchy police records, the fable killer was anything but proper. Organs stolen from the killed, a trail of letters in correspondence to  _Scotland Yard_ , all the victims being female, and with no other trace except a trail of blood that would disappear after fifteen steps west. Yes, the killer needed a proper name.

In the papers that following week after the latest kill a few nights before, a journalist called out the killer, calling him " _Jack the Ripper"._  The papers flew from one hand to another, voices calling out to the oh-so killer that had been haunting Fallen London for weeks. It just so happened that the paper fell into Mila's hands as she sewed embroidery over little baby dresses and gowns.

The other seamstresses at the shop whispered to each other as they flipped through the papers, dragging their fingers down the column of words. For a brief moment, Mila's eyes darkened when one of her colleagues asked her if she wanted to take a glance.

Setting down her needles, Mila's radiating smile and gentle eyes soothed the shop once more. "Isn't it better to not know the details?"

" _Mila."_ The emphasize of her name tugged a frown on her face, but Mila hid it well as she fully turned to meet her colleagues. "You're always the last one to leave the shop at night. At least take a glance so you know where to avoid."

Sighing, Mila scooted her chair over and glanced down the column of the recent  _Jack the Ripper_ victim. Shrugging, Mila picked up her needles and finished her work. "Just because I know where to avoid, it doesn't mean I can avoid  _him._ "

" _Mila, this isn’t a joke._ "

Mila scooted away and placed her finished work over a table. Picking up another spool of threads and wool, Mila picked out a lovely red to continue the patterns of unfinished scarf. It was a project on the side for Mila as she waited for order requests to come in, and each pattern was different yet similar. They followed the same theme of flowers, and this week's flower was but a rose that was not quite yet ready to be picked. Mila's steady fingers made quick work as a repeating set of buds followed along a line.

The tinkling bells at the front door rang, so she looked up. With matching coats and a mock pipe between the latter's teeth,  _Yuuri Katsuki_ and  _Phichit Chulanont_ were on the scene, surveying the seamstresses. Another killing was to happen tonight, another  _Jack the Ripper_ victim might've been one of them. Out of safety precautions, the two rising detectives for  _Scotland Yard_ were going around Fallen London, alerting women to not go anywhere alone and to return home before sunset. General precautions they may be, but no one was willing to take chances anymore.

As the men spoke, Mila hummed a little tune under her breath as she sewed.

"Mila?" Mila grew silent when she heard the quivering voice. Mr. Katsuki stared at her, bits of pain in his eyes. "It would serve my heart justice if you listened. I won't be able to walk you home this time."

Mr. Chulanont looked at his partner before glancing at Mila, and then he stared back at Mr. Katsuki. His partner mumbled that he would recount the details on a later note. Watching the detectives carefully, Mila rose from her seat and gathered her unfinished scarf into her arms. Mr. Katsuki didn’t change a bit since last night, but the bags under his eyes were more prominent. Mr. Chulanont fared better, but his eyes were bloodshot like the budding pattern on Mila’s scarf. Draped against a wall, a Mila titled her head back and stared up to God or to the Heaven that was willing to listen.

"Why would dear  _Jack_ want to kill me? I have nothing to give, nothing to take. I am but a poor woman who cannot give what every other woman can give. A scraped design by God, I am. Never to hold a bundle for me to rock." Swaying her hips, Mila held her scarf close as she twirled around the shop, nuzzling her nose against her " _bundle"._  Mr. Katsuki blushed and looked away while Mr. Chulanont stepped forward.

"Then whose scarf is that you're making, Miss?"

"A lover's." Mila pressed the scarf against her bosom, almost feeling her lover in her arms. " _A lover that will come home one day._ "

One day. That  _one day_  hadn't happened in over seven years. That  _one day_ was supposed to be the day Mila got married. She was to wear a lovely gown and veil, to walk down the church aisle with white roses adorned in her fiery hair, to meet the man she chose to spend her life with, to kiss him at the alter and have him in her arms, and to live a peaceful life every day along rolling hills and sweet winters.

Alas, that godforsaken  _one day_ never came. And so, the beautiful gown and lovely veil that Mila sewed by hand was never worn. Only to be seen and never touched, it hid in her dresser and waited for that  _one day_  to come around.

After all these years, Mila finally came to London when she caught word of a seducer playing a fine game with the English ladies. No evidence ever pointed to her lover, but ladies naturally knew how to gossip. The vile poverty and corruption added another nail to her coffin when Mila realized what the "fine ladies" of London were doing to the heavenly gift God had bestowed upon them. A few such ladies enjoyed the pleasure of having a man over them, and they were quick dispose the signs of life that started to stir in their bodies. If they didn't want a child, Mila was happy to help them.

Under the cloak of night, Mila approached the willing participants. Always alone in an alley way or another tight squeeze that the maze of Fallen London was known for; she visited her next patient and did her work. Rubbing their shoulders and adorning them in fresh cloth, Mila felt the shoulders sag and a light hum escaped from the patient’s lips. Mila was careful in her interrogation. Under her spell, the patient talked and talked about their past man in intoxicating details. It was never the same one, Mila realized. Her lover wasn't in London after all, but the city had its tendrils and Mila couldn’t escape. Tackling a harsh knot as she loosened the patient’s back, Mila attacked a pressure point. The patient fell back into her arms, as limp as a woman could be in the night.

She made quick work with her patient, the same way she made quick work of her needles when she sewed. Barely any blood was spilled, and Mila made sure to listen to the feeble beats of a black heart before she snipped the familial ties of Life. It was just another sewing project, another thing she did on the side with her needles. The patient freed from her burden, Mila gathered the organs and parts into a clean cloth and wiped her needles diligently so that her image reflected back to her. Her lovely needles always did know how to cheer her up.

What would she do with the organs? She mailed a few to  _Scotland Yard_ , she dumped a few in the rubbish bins, and maybe she left them behind if she was generous. If more women wanted to be like her, Mila would accept their request with a sweet smile and open arms. No one ever thought it was her. Who would believe that a young woman was behind all the killings?

It was always a  _man this_  and a  _man that_. Never would anyone think that a seamstress who exclusively made baby clothing would be behind such horrific crimes. Mila liked it that way. So after strolling down that night's alley as  _Scotland Yard_ and the fresh detectives were hot on her trail, Mila wiped away the blood on her needles with a fresh cloth before disposing that too. The clicks of her heels were the only sounds in Fallen London besides hurried footsteps, panting voices, and shouts as men scattered to find their elusive killer.

Mila had to leave tonight. Five kills in a span of twelve weeks did a number on her. She could go on forever, but home was calling to her. Home in a distant land was yearning for her to return, and she could safely finish her scarf and wait for her lover to come home. Returning to her humble abode, Mila gathered her scarf into a basket. From her dresser, Mila picked up her faded wedding gown and veil and slipped them on.

If she was to return back home, to marry her home and live peaceful days by rolling hills and sweet winters was her calling. A lady in white crossing the night after a killing. It'd be more appropriate if Mila wore red, but the white roses she picked along the way were adorned in her hair like on her wedding day. She didn’t need red.

" _Mila?"_

She hadn't heard that voice in over seven years.

" _Mila, is that you?"_

Pulling back her veil, she turned around.

" _Mila, I am so sorry. I did not mean to leave you. Please accept me back in your heart, because I finally accept you in mine._ "

A tear ran down her cheek. Mila ran into her lover's arms, and he embraced her back. He held her close, resting his chin on her shoulder. Mila pulled away slightly to deliver a kiss. This was the wedding day Mila always wanted, and now it was here for her to cherish forever. Deepening the kiss, Mila opened her eyes and saw that her lover’s eyes were closed. Mila patted his back one last time.

His eyes shot open when Mila backed away. Her hands were stained with a lovely shade of red.

" _M-Mila?"_

"I cherish you with all my heart, but you only cherished me for this one moment."

Her lover reached for his back and pulled out twin needles. Stumbling back, the needles flew into the air and Mila caught them with ease.

"My Dear, true love is when you don't let go of a fair, tender heart." Mila's eyes darkened as she approached her lover. He couldn't scream when Mila rammed the needles into his chest. She had him in a kiss, and that was the last touch he ever felt.

When Mila left London, she had a basket in her hand as she walked with her wedding gown and veil. A beautiful red blossomed over her chest like lovely rose buds that expressed the innocence of her heart. Her lover lied on a dirty in London, a nice scarf wrapped around his neck as he  _slept_ against a wall. As long as she had his heart, no one else could.

In the early mornings of day, a red sun greeted _Scotland Yard_ with the death of Mary Kelly written in that day’s column in the paper. Mr. Katsuki never saw Mila again. He waited at the sewing shop for days at a time, but he never saw her. Eventually, he took off his hat and pressed it against his chest. He had no evidence, but his heart knew the truth. Now she was gone, and there was no one to blame. Mr. Chulanont stayed at the headquarters of _Scotland Yard_ , working day and night analyzing and rereading the letters from _Jack the Ripper._

Furrowing his brows, he scribbled a message and dropped it off at Mr. Katsuki’s vacant desk.

_What if we’ve been going about this all wrong the whole time? What if it was “Jill the Ripper” instead of a “Jack”?_

 


End file.
